The Eighties Experiment
by natalieashe
Summary: Sequel to 'Whisky & Ice Cream Don't Mix' - read that first or this will make no sense :-) Following a night in the pub, John and Greg decide to conduct a little experiment on Sherlock to find the answer to an oft-asked question. Rated T for slight language and m/m attraction. Potential Sherlock/Lestrade, fluff no smut
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Some references to sex - fairly mild, in my opinion, but just saying... I don't own Sherlock or any material relating to it. Reviews welcome.**

Greg threw the pile of papers onto his desk and raked his hands through his silver hair, huffing in irritation. He'd started reading the statement a half dozen times already, but hadn't yet progressed beyond the third paragraph before he found his mind wandering to Sherlock-_bloody_-Holmes.

"Curse the bloody man," he muttered. "How the hell am I supposed to get any work done?" He picked up his phone checking for a non-existent message and started tapping at the screen before deliberately deleting every letter, because he couldn't think of the appropriate words to use to communicate the way he felt. Embarrassed? Maybe. Conflicted? Possibly. Confused? Definitely!

Waking up in Sherlock's bed the morning before with a raging hangover, but the sense of having had a great night, had been weird enough. What he had trouble explaining to himself was why he'd thought kissing the detective would be funny. He'd intended it as a joke, a way to wind up John and give him a bit of a shock after he'd teased them about being in bed together, but neither he nor Sherlock had broken the kiss even when John had clashed the tea tray down on the nightstand and left muttering embarrassed obscenities. He hadn't anticipated Sherlock's cool fingers sliding around the back of his neck, and he hadn't intended his own fingers to tangle in those impossibly soft curls. It was only when the bedroom door had clashed shut behind John and Sherlock's palm shoved forcefully against his chest that the spell had been broken. The detective slumped out of the bed and vomited spectacularly in the waste bin, with a hoarse "sorry", leaving Greg propped against the headboard, flushed and more than a little shell-shocked.

Greg hadn't said anything, simply handing him one of the mugs of tea and patting his shoulder soothingly, then he shrugged back into John's too-tight shirt and escaped to the bathroom, avoiding the doctor's accusing glare as he passed. Once there he pressed his forehead against the cool glass of the mirror and asked himself the most lucid question his hung-over brain could form - what_ the fuck…?_ – but even after five minutes of staring deeply into his own eyes, the best he could come up with was _bloody hell, I kissed Sherlock, and it was probably the best kiss I've had in a decade!_ He had heard John's angry tones coming from Sherlock's bedroom, and the detective's answering low rumble, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. When John rapped furiously on the door a moment later, Greg decided he'd probably overstayed his welcome and slipped out of the bathroom to find a black bin liner containing his ruined suit unceremoniously thrust into his arms.

"I'm sure Sherlock will call, but maybe don't wait by the phone!" John had snapped, before turning on his heel and leaving the flat, front door slamming shut behind him. Greg had stared after his retreating friend, baffled by the sudden switch from good-natured teasing to outright hostility. He poked his head around Sherlock's door but the detective was lying on his side facing away from the door and didn't acknowledge him.

"Everything ok, Sherlock? John seemed pretty pissed."

"He'll get over it," snorted Sherlock without turning round.

"Um, ok… See you later then?" Greg forced cheerfully, but there was no reply.

He checked his watch. That had been thirty-one hours ago, give or take? Greg had spent a large portion of that time deliberating on the events of the previous day and winding himself into knots about what a stupid, single _freaking hot_ kiss could possibly mean. He'd embraced his new status as a single man since his wife had walked out again, and this time it seemed a bit more final. Twenty-five weeks and four days, she'd been gone this time, not that he had it marked on the calendar or anything... In that time he'd had six dates, two of which had ended in frantic, rushed, and ultimately unsatisfying sex with women he neither liked or cared for. They couldn't wait to leave in the morning, and he couldn't wait to be rid of them, a crushing sense of shame overshadowing any pleasant memories of getting off with a living breathing human being instead of by his own hand. It was a bad deal when you considered a wank to be more meaningful than sex with an enthusiastic partner.

Unlike Sherlock, he had near perfect recall of the night before, and in the cold light of day, sober and feeling slightly dejected, he could analyze every exchange. For some unfathomable reason he had flirted with Sherlock - _actually flirted_, as though he was interested in his friend on a more intimate level. Feeding him ice cream - _Christ_, the way he'd held that spoon and suggestively slipped it between Sherlock's lips - it had felt good to have him pressed against his legs and the heat in Sherlock's eyes had sent a shiver low in his stomach. The alcohol had emboldened him enough to lightly twine his fingers through Sherlock's hair and it had seemed a perfectly reasonable thing to do when pissed, but all the time at the back of his mind was John's mantra - 'I'm not gay'. That had clicked into sharp focus when Sherlock had dragged him off to the bedroom. Sex with a man - _with Sherlock_ - wasn't his thing. He had no bloody clue about that and didn't particularly want to find out, no matter how much his stomach quivered at the thought of being touched by someone who looked like they would very much enjoy it. Sad git. Sad and bloody desperate. So what if emotions were running high after almost being killed? That was no reason to consider jumping a close, and very male friend!

His phone finally gave a little chirp and he snatched it off the desk - _Classy Greg - like a teenage girl the morning after_ – but it was John's number not Sherlock's. After John's apparent anger the morning before he was surprised at the regular tone of his message.

_Running late. Get the pints in._

So their regular Friday night at the pub was still on. The clock showed he should have left ten minutes ago, so he shrugged on his jacket and overcoat and hurried out of the office, dropping the statements onto Donovan's desk as he passed.

The front of the pub was busy when he got there, early evening revelers chatting and drinking before heading home to whatever weekend plans they had made. He pressed his way to the bar to find John handing over cash for the four pints that stood on the bar.

"Got two each so we don't have to navigate this lot again. Should thin out in an hour or so."

Greg nodded and picked up a pint in each hand, and then they shouldered their way to the back of the pub where there was always a few tables available. He took a sip of his pint, and grinned nervously at John. "So are we going to discuss the elephant in the room? Get it over with?"

"Ok," John said slowly, not looking at Greg, "which elephant do you want to start with? You and Sherlock, and why neither of you bothered to tell me you were together? Or the fact that my friendship means so little to you both, that you announce your _relationship_ by shoving it down my throat?" Two spots of angry colour bloomed on the doctor's cheeks as he fought to keep his tone even. Clearly still pissed off, then, which immediately put Greg on the defensive.

"There _is_ no relationship. It was just a laugh, you know? You came in and thought it was hilarious to find us in a compromising situation, so we… well _I_ thought it would be funny to embarrass you a bit. Sherlock went along with it. I don't really get why you're so upset to be honest, you were fine with it when you first came in!" He took a long swallow of his drink watching a war of emotions cross his friend's face in the gloom of the pub.

"Yeah, when I first came in and figured out who Sherlock was with, and that the pair of you were probably wasted given the empty bottles, I didn't think there was anything more to it. After all, Sherlock and I have ended up in the same bed more than once after a trying night. Generally fully clothed, mind you, but given the mess you'd both made of what you were wearing... Even when I came into the room it was just so ridiculous that you two could be together like that, it made me laugh."

"Why ridiculous? Aren't I good enough for the great detective?" Greg teased, but there was an undercurrent of annoyance to the question. He might not be Sherlock's equal in looks or intelligence, but he could give John a run for his money, even if he was a little longer in the tooth. He looked after himself, punishing himself in the gym for his love of a beer, even more so in recent weeks since he'd been so lonely. Female company preferred muscle over stodge if the likes of Sally Donovan were to be listened to. "Are you jealous?" John glared at his friend's perfect toothy grin and declined to answer, hiding behind his lager. "You bloody _are_," said Greg gleefully, "I don't care if you're married - 'not gay', bollocks!"

"I'm not, and I didn't think you were either, or I wouldn't have -"

"What?"

"I don't know. Walked in without warning maybe. Anyway, as Sherlock was quick to point out, who he chooses to sleep with is none of my business." John said bitterly. "I'll get another drink." Greg gawped after the other man as he walked away to the bar looking like the revelation of Sherlock's comment had physically pained him. He dug in his pocket for his phone and briskly typed a text.

_Why did you tell John we had sex? G_

_**Why did you kiss me? - SH**_

_**And I said we slept together, not sex. Different -SH**_

_Matter of semantics Sherlock, and apparently hurtful to our friend. G_

_**John is over-sensitive. His observational skills are dulled as a result. And you haven't answered my question – SH**_

_What are you on about? Kiss seemed a good idea at the time. G_

_**I see. John did not approve– SH**_

_Wasn't seeking his approval. Confused now. But not gay. Thought I should point that out. G_

_**Seems to be a common theme. Busy. Go away – SH**_

John returned with another two pints and scowled at Greg's phone as the final message beeped. He slipped it back into his pocket and stared anxiously at his friend. "You want to tell me what's really eating you? Me and Sherlock... Well there _is_ no me and Sherlock. We had a moment, but I'm pretty sure I'm not gay. I um... Well I spent last night channel hopping, looking at all these guys on TV that women rave over and there was nothing... Not a twitch."

John stared at him, the corners of his mouth twitching up into a grin in spite of himself. "I'm not sure what's more creepy - you stalking the channels looking for blokes to turn you on, or you telling me that you did it."

Greg looked sheepish. "Kissing Sherlock wasn't a mistake exactly. There's just something infuriatingly attractive about the man, particularly when your inhibitions are low. I didn't set out to seduce him, but I enjoyed kissing him. We didn't - you know...?"

"We never 'you knowed' either" chuckled John, the tension between them easing a little. "Maybe we would've in time but then he sort of put the dampeners on it when he 'died'. Mary picked up the pieces and that was that... I missed my chance. Maybe I wasn't even prepared to acknowledge there _was_ a chance. I still hold I'm not gay either."

"So, two straight blokes attracted to the enigma that is Sherlock Holmes... Is Sherlock gay?"

"No idea, probably not. Irene Adler had him by the short and curlies with every obscene text message, so I reckon he has a passing interest in women at least. "

"You know, we should conduct an experiment to find out," grinned Greg. "Take him out for the evening and get him drunk then point him at the 'beautiful people' and see which way he goes."

"He'd never go for it, never go on a night out with us. He'd certainly never let his guard down around strangers."

"Course he would, if he thought it was for a case. And he seems to loosen up a bit when he's had a few. Definitely more open to a bit of flirting I've discovered."

John leaned back against the wall balancing his stool on two legs as he regarded Greg thoughtfully. He was grinning back at him, enthusiastic in his drunken state. The thought of conducting an experiment on their consulting detective was very appealing. A little bit of revenge for all the experiments Sherlock had imposed on them over the years, and this one was pretty harmless. May even be a laugh. "So what did you have in mind? We can't just invent a case then hope he takes a fancy to someone in the pub." John looked around and decided none of the clientele, save for perhaps themselves, would be appealing to Sherlock. Single women were almost non-existent in here, and gay men rarer than hens' teeth, so definitely not a fruitful hunting ground.

"Leave it to me. I know a fantastic club that would be perfect and a couple of friends who would quite enjoy a bit of flirting. I'll set it all up and call you with the details. You up for reliving your teenage years for the night?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: It will probably be apparent my teenage years were the 80s in the UK so the fashions referred to are what I recall us wearing back in the day - and yes, most of it was pretty loud! Outfits are based on what the pop stars I idolised were wearing on my bedroom wall (Adam Ant, Duran Duran, Culture Club, Spandau Ballet). I don't own Sherlock, but I'd quite like to see them all dressed like this, if there are any talented artists reading :-D Please review.**

Greg walked through the door of 221b and gawped at John for a moment then burst into laughter at his appearance.

"Oh my god, I forgot how wide shoulder pads were in the eighties. Where the hell did you find that jacket?"

John grinned back, knowing that the outfit looked ridiculous but was entirely in keeping with their theme for the night. The black and red military style jacket with the huge shoulder pads finished at his waist. Under it he wore a black vest top and bright red slim jeans were tucked into calf length boots.

"The jacket's from an Adam Ant fancy dress costume Mary hired for me. T-shirt and boots are mine but I had to go buy the jeans. You have no idea how mortifying that was, walking into a shop frequented by skinny teenagers. I expected them to escort me out," he laughed. "Mary did the make-up, but I drew the line at a white stripe across my nose. Can't do much to 80s-up my hair unfortunately. It was a lot longer and floppier back then. Anyway, look at you! You look like you just stepped back in time but it's still unmistakeably 'you'!"

Greg twirled like a teenage girl in her prom dress, showing off his get-up. He fished in his jacket pocket and pulled out a photo which he handed to John.

"Me, 1985, age 21," he grinned. John looked from the photo to his friend and back again twice in amazement. But for thirty years of pretty damn graceful aging that had silvered his hair and put tiny creases around his eyes, the photo could have been taken only months ago!

"How did you find a jacket exactly the same after all this time? It's pretty distinctive." John eyed the soft black and red biker-style bomber jacket with its crazy shoulder pads that Greg wore over a black fine mesh t-shirt.

"It's the same one! Bit surprised it still fits to be honest, though it's a bit tight over the shoulders now. I got off with the wife's best friend in this jacket, long before I was married, of course. Had a fair bit of success when wearing it actually. Apparently it's very touchable," he joked. "The jeans are mine - bought them to try to fit in when I went clubbing with some of the younger lads from work, but not sure black skinnies do a lot for a bloke my build. Got the boxer boots from a mate who actually wears them in the ring!" Greg had spiked up his hair and applied a liberal amount of black eyeliner, and the look contrast between pale hair and dark eyes was pretty sexy.

"I'm sure you walked off the Duran Duran poster I used to have on my bedroom wall when I was a kid. You look sickeningly good, you old git!" John teased. Just then Mary bustled out of Sherlock's room looking stunning in a tailored black pinstripe suit, her blonde hair slicked back and immaculate. John kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Pleased you decided to join us?"

"I wouldn't miss this for the world," she grinned. "Looking hot, Greg."

"Not so bad yourself Mary – a bit Annie Lennox."

She smiled at him. "Thanks, I always loved her look – so bold. Anyway, Sherlock's almost ready so let's get a photo."

The two men stood together by the wall, Greg's arm slung casually across his friend's shoulder while Mary snapped a picture. Moments later her camera flashed again capturing their stunned expression as the detective sauntered into the room. Sherlock's legs were clad in indecently tight black leather trousers that led into supple black suede over-the-knee boots. Pale cream ruffles spilled down the front of his open necked shirt, emphasizing an even paler strip of chest where a jet black beaded cross lay against his skin. His black canvas jacket was crisscrossed with black ribbons, some ending in D rings and others in clips. Finishing the outfit a long plum and gold scarf was knotted around his waist, its ends dangling from his left hip to just above his knee. Mary had done a masterful job of his makeup, dark razor edged strips of colour making his amazing cheekbones look even more incredible, and his pale eyes gleamed from smoky darkness. The image was the 'sexy-goth-pirate' end of the New Romantic scale but _hell, it worked!_

"Oh my god... You look... Wow!" John stuttered.

"Stunning. And I can't believe I said that out loud," blushed Greg.

Mary reviewed her photo and giggled. "Told you you'd look amazing Sherlock. If you can grab these two then I don't think you'll have any trouble catching the attention of our suspects this evening."

Sherlock arched an eyebrow and turned his back on his friends. "Right, you have precisely thirty seconds to ogle my arse before we discuss the case and our plans."

"Conceited git! Can I throw something at him?" John pleaded to his wife, but Mary just smirked. Greg tried to drag his eyes away from Sherlock to watch the couple's exchange but he was just too damn_... Hot, Greg. That's the word you're trying not to think..._

"Ok, enough of that." Sherlock whirled and began pacing the room. "We go in as a foursome. John, Mary, you pretend to be a couple..."

"Um, Sherlock, we _are_ a couple...?"

"What? Oh, yes... Then just be you, exactly as you are. Greg you'll have to pose as my boyfriend."

"Lucky bastard," muttered John under his breath, and winced when Mary playfully slapped his arm.

"Huh? Why? Won't that hamper things if we're trying to get this couple to pick you up?"

"Not at all. We'll need to have some sort of tiff, so feel free to flirt so I can get angry with you. Hopefully the result will be one vulnerable and attractive piece of irresistable bait. Me! Come on, I'll get us a cab." Sherlock bounded down the stairs leaving the others to trail after him.

"Please can I be the one to tell him there was never a case when this is all over?" begged John. "He has no right to look like he belongs in clothes like that while we just look like mutton."

"Well playing his boyfriend isn't exactly going to help with my man-crush is it? At least I get to dump him in public - that should be fun! Oh, and Mary – I'll give you twenty quid if you get me a photo of Sherlock dressed like that! For the notice board at the Yard, obviously!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Updating quickly as I pretty much have this story written, just edits to do. Further revelations of my teenage years - the bands referred to are those I grew up with in the years 83-86. I don't own anything to do with those bands, or Sherlock, but all are fantastic! Reviews appreciated.**

If they had any fears of appearing conspicuous dressed as they were they were quickly allayed when they descended the steps into the club. The majority of the clientele in Reflex was over 40 and dressed in full eighties regalia, from neon socks to ra-ra skirts, ruffled shirts to 'Frankie Says...' T-shirts. Both sexes had been generous with the make-up and occasionally it required a second glance to determine the gender of the wearer. The dance floor was already bouncing with bodies, swaying and hopping under the flashing disco lights to a Culture Club track.

"I love this place," yelled Greg in John's ear over the poppy beat.

"You've been here before?"

"Never on a Thursday. Music is the same every night, but Thursdays you have to dress the part to get in. Takes me back!" He grinned at his friend who was trying to picture the DI clubbing at all, though he supposed this place was more 'school disco' than full out club scene. Greg's body was already unconsciously shifting to the music, a wide grin splitting his face, which froze slightly as Sherlock's arm slid around his waist. He shot a slightly panicked look at John who had to turn his face away to hide his grin. _Crap, this was my idea... What was I thinking?_

Sherlock's mouth was close to his ear, his warm breath tickling against his skin. "We're going to have to act convincing so maybe we should establish some boundaries to avoid embarrassment?" he breathed. Greg swallowed hard and nodded, his grin fixed in place.

"Quick observations of the couples in the room would indicate three precise stages of a relationship. One, just got together and can't keep their hands or lips off each other. Two, established relationship, happy together, casual familiar touches and occasional moments of intimacy. Three, actively looking for a way out of an unhappy union with anyone who shows a passing interest. Option three probably gives us the best chance of explaining an argument between us. Do you agree?"

Greg attempted to turn to look at Sherlock but the detective's arm around his waist made it look as though he was cuddling up to his boyfriend. _It's a good job it's so bloody dark in here, I must look red as a beetroot..._

"Doesn't this look a little intimate if we're unhappy together?"

Sherlock stood a little straighter and tightened his arm, looming over Greg in a threatening manner.

"Maybe it's my possessiveness that would start an argument if you started flirting? We'll have to touch to convince people we're together though. Have you spotted them yet?"

Greg shook his head and pulled away from Sherlock until he could breathe anything but the detective's aftershave. If this was a real relationship he would probably have been nuzzling into Sherlock's neck by now trying to tease away his partner's scowl but that seemed like a step too far. Instead he twined his fingers through Sherlock's free hand and pulled him towards the bar.

"Let's get a drink, do a bit of dancing. We can have a good look round the place."

Sherlock allowed himself to be led but the scowl didn't leave his face even when Greg handed him a beer and they found a quiet spot near the edge of the dance floor. Mary and John were already dancing and the two men were surprised to see how well John moved considering the aching stiffness in his shoulder that had been apparent for much of the week. He raised a hand in a casual wave, which Greg acknowledged with a tilt of his beer.

"We shouldn't be drinking alcohol if we're working," Sherlock said unhappily. "It slows the reflexes and diminishes my clarity of thought when I'm trying to deduce someone. If I'm going to leave with this couple... _Ow!_" He yelped as Greg fiercely gripped his hand.

"This is a recce only Sherlock, we don't have enough evidence to build a case yet so that's why you're trying to find a way in by making a date with one of them, or both if that's what you fancy. You're not going home with anyone other than _me_ tonight. _Us_, I mean," he quickly corrected. It wouldn't do for Sherlock to try to leave with the couple - they could only take fiction so far, and they hadn't planned for that!

"Christ! And I thought I was supposed to be the jealous one. So how am I supposed to play it?"

Greg sighed and wondered how to push Sherlock in the direction they wanted him to take without it seeming odd.

"Look, you need to look like you're here for a good time, so that means a couple of drinks so you don't stand out. We'll dance, then we can fight and you can go off looking all hurt and mysterious and see what happens. Ok? I'll go fetch us a couple more beers, you wait here."

Greg had just received his change when a voice at his elbow spoke his name. He turned to greet Joe, one of the friends he'd enlisted to tempt Sherlock.

"Is that him? The guy you were standing with? Nice!" Joe laughed. "Sorry to hear your marriage broke down by the way, but he looks a damn fine reason to switch sides Greg." He winked suggestively and once again Greg was grateful for the dim lights to hide his flaming cheeks. "Beth's on the dance floor trying to catch his eye. You might not recognise her though - she went a bit mad with the crimpers so her head looks like it exploded!"

Greg first met Joe and Beth five years earlier when his team raided a swingers club that was fronting a major drugs operation. The couple turned out to be innocent of any narcotics offences and the police weren't interested in whatever else they were doing. Their paths had crossed again a few weeks later in his local pub and the three had bonded over a mutual love of Premiership football. Joe was about Greg's height, lean and very fit, with floppy black hair and piercing blue eyes. Beth, his wife, was almost as tall but with fabulous curves that Greg could see she was using to her advantage on the dance floor near to Sherlock. Her normally sleek red hair stood out from her head in all directions, the colour and style giving the appearance of a firework blooming under the lights.

"She looks amazing as always, Joe, you lucky bastard."

Joe grinned at him, not in the least offended. "Anytime you want to join us for a bit of fun, you've got our number" he chuckled. "Maybe bring the boyfriend along too?"

"Nah, but thanks for the offer. I think you two would be far too much to handle in the sack. I like to keep things simple."

Joe grasped Greg's forearm and leaned in to say "Sure you do, that's why you asked us to come along and flirt with your new bloke. What's that about then? If you're looking to test his fidelity I don't think you need worry - he's never taken his eyes off us since we started chatting. I don't think he's even noticed Beth!"

With a quick glance at Sherlock who was frowning over at them he turned Joe so they had their backs to the detective. It wouldn't do for him to be able to lip read their conversation.

"He's not really my boyfriend. For reasons I can't go into - um, police business - we're acting like we're together. I am intrigued to know if he's gay or straight though so feel free to see if you can pique his interest. He doesn't look too happy with me though so I better get a couple more beers over to him to sweeten him up. Catch you later?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A little bit of same-sex flirting, just a warning in case you're not comfy with that kind of thing... all pretty tame really. Bands and songs referenced are also favourites, but sadly I own nothing to do with them, or Sherlock. Please review.**

Sherlock had moved so he could watch Greg chatting to the dark-haired man at the bar. He deduced that it must be the male suspect Greg had told him about, and that his friend had decided to begin flirting already because he'd casually touched the man no less than four times during the course of their smiling conversation. He was younger than Greg, around forty, works out, but not to build muscle. Attractive, and clearly very interested in the policeman. He watched Greg purchase two more beers and wend his way back to him.

"Our suspect I presume? Or one of them at least," he asked in a low tone. Greg nodded. "Who was that you were talking to?" He demanded loudly, startling Greg who took a moment to realise this was part of their act. Sherlock's convincing irritated tone and the sharp glances he cast towards Joe, who was now laughing beside Beth at the bar made Greg uneasy for real.

"Oh, um... Some guy called Joe. We were just chatting. He was nice."

Sherlock swallowed down most of his bottle of beer, a feat Greg would never have imagined he was capable, and scowled at his imaginary boyfriend. "Drink up, I want to dance." The DJ was mixing Bronski Beat and Frankie Goes To Hollywood, and it seemed to be a hit with the crowd. They braved the press of bodies on the dance floor to claim a tiny amount of space as their own. It was difficult to do more than bob in one spot without an elbow or backside thrusting into their personal space, so it wasn't long before Sherlock grew frustrated.

"Too crowded," he muttered, grabbing Greg's arm and pressing through the throng to the edge of the dance floor once more. Greg could only follow unable to wrest his forearm from Sherlock's tight grip. He hauled him to the bar and herded Greg with his body to the far end where the coloured lights didn't quite banish the shadows. A barman paused from washing glasses to serve them more lager, and then discreetly left them to it.

"So, the guy called Joe is our man, and the woman beside him is his partner?"

"Yes." Greg yelped as the other man grabbed him in a passionate clinch. "Sherlock! For god's sake give me some warning before you…"

"Stare into my eyes!" The detective commanded, and Greg found himself pinned into the corner by Sherlock's body. The detective was gazing somewhere over Greg's left shoulder rather than into his eyes, and a slight shift of Greg's head revealed a mirror behind them.

"What are you doing?" He hissed through gritted teeth somewhere near Sherlock's lace-covered collar bone. With every shaky breath he inhaled more of the detective's unique scent which was bewildering and _too damn good_. A moment later Sherlock stepped away and handed Greg his drink as though nothing had occurred.

"The woman went to dance again," he said by way of explanation.

They finished their bottles quickly and in silence, Greg trying not to flinch when Sherlock moved behind him and slid his arm around his stomach, pulling him back to lean against his chest. Sherlock dipped his head close to Greg's ear. "You're too tense, relax! No one will believe we're lovers if you jump every time I touch you. Even if I am an obnoxious possessive git..." Greg forced some if the tension from his shoulders and leaned against the detective. "Much better," whispered Sherlock against his neck. _Christ_. Greg closed his eyes for a moment, suppressing a moan. Sherlock wouldn't have a clue that that particular spot on his neck was so damn sensitive... Blood started to rush towards parts it had no business being at this moment, forcing Greg to pull away from the detective abruptly and march away to the Gents without a word or backwards glance. Sherlock stared after him in confusion and was about to follow when he felt a touch on his arm.

"Trouble in Paradise, sweetie? Leave him to stew, come dance with me," the red-haired woman drawled, trailing her fingers down his forearm. He watched their progress down the black canvas until they ghosted over the back of his pale hand. Reflexively he curled his long fingers around hers and allowed her to pull him onto the dance floor, the pulsing pop beat of Heaven 17's 'Temptation' finally filtering into his brain.

Mary and John were still dancing nearby, relishing their first night out as a couple since the birth of their daughter. Mary tugged on John's sleeve, manoeuvring her husband until they were both in a position to watch the detective and his female partner on the dance floor. Sherlock turned out to be a fabulous dancer, and the woman matched him perfectly, jigging and writhing around him as the music morphed from one up-tempo beat to another. John hadn't been able to imagine the man in this sort of setting, but just as he seemed to fit the outfit, the whole 80s dance theme seemed to perfectly fit him.

"How does he even know this music? He would've only been a little kid when it was out," John yelled over the song.

"Older brother's influence?" Mary called back.

"Really? Can't see this being Mycroft's scene, can you?" They both laughed at the thought of the stuffy, elegant man, dancing to electric pop music. The music changed to a slower track and John put his hands on his wife's hips, leaning forward to press a kiss to her lips. "I love this record. Probably a mood-killer but I bought it for my first girlfriend."

"Feels Like Heaven? I remember kissing my best friend at the school disco when it was on."

John's step faltered. "Your best friend was a boy... Right?" Mary grinned and winked. "Bloody hell, Mary Watson, there are some of your mysteries that I don't mind uncovering! That is so..."

"Sexy?"

"Mmmm!" He kissed her again with rather more heat than was appropriate for the dance floor. "Want to find a quiet corner and have a snog?" He laughed.

"Maybe later... I'm not fourteen anymore. And we're supposed to be assisting in an experiment remember?"

They looked across at Sherlock who was now dancing closely with the woman with the wild red hair. He whispered something in her ear and she threw back her head laughing in genuine delight. "He's doing fine without us."

"Yes, but maybe Greg could do with some support?" She nodded to where their friend was leaning against the wall, a beer in each hand, eyes glued to Sherlock and the woman, an odd look on his face. "You do realise this little experiment of yours could backfire don't you? I think our friend may care about the outcome a little more than he's letting on." They watched as Sherlock and Greg exchanged a glance before Sherlock deliberately turned the woman away from him and pressed himself closer still. The girl giggled, writhing against him. Greg looked sick.

"Bloody hell," muttered John. "Is he flirting to make Greg jealous? I thought the plan was the other way around?"

"If he flirts like that much harder that girl will come away pregnant," quipped Mary, then seeing John's face she quickly apologised. "Come on, I think Greg needs distracting. Oh!"

She stopped dead, John crashing into her back as she realised Greg was talking animatedly with a very attractive dark haired man. The younger man was leaning in close, his hand resting lightly on Greg's shoulder. They watched the couple on the dance floor for a moment and laughed together. The younger man touched Greg's face, one finger tracing the silver-haired man's jaw.

"Do you know the couple Greg was going to ask to do a bit of flirting?" Mary asked.

"No, why? Greg thought it better I didn't so I couldn't give the game away."

"Just wondered..."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who stuck with this little bit of fun. Hope you enjoyed it. I don't own Sherlock or 'Save A Prayer' by Duran Duran (the song quoted near the end), but they are two of my favourite things, and the words seemed appropriate - it was the inspiration for this whole story in fact! This is the final chapter - reviews still welcome.**

Joe leaned against the bar, sliding his arm along the smooth wood behind Greg's back. They watched as Beth approached, leading Sherlock by the tips of his long fingers. Joe leaned closer to Greg trailing his hand up his arm to rest on his shoulder, his thumb stroking the nape of his neck. "Are you sure about this?" He asked softly. "He doesn't look happy with you."

"I'm not that chuffed with him, the way he's draping all over Beth," huffed Greg. "I suppose it answers my question though."

"Disappointed?" Joe grinned.

"No, of course not." Joe regarded him with a raised eyebrow. "_What?_"

"You're an idiot, Greg Lestrade," Joe pulled him close and dropped a light kiss on the corner of his mouth just as Beth and Sherlock reached them. Beth smiled at them but Sherlock looked thunderous. Greg would have taken a step back, away from the force of those livid grey eyes, had the bar not already been at his back and Joe's arm around him.

"Sherlock, meet my husband Joe," purred Beth. "Who's your friend, darling?" She gave Greg a discreet wink.

"This is Greg. I invited him home but sadly for us he claims he's with someone."

"He's with me. Or at least he was," Sherlock said coldly, glaring pointedly at Joe's hand where it rested against Greg's neck. "I think he suddenly finds himself available."

"Aw come on Sherlock, don't be like that. We can all go home together and have a bit of fun." Beth slipped her arms around his neck and kissed along his jaw, moving ever closer to his lips. He gently disentangled himself and pushed her firmly away, never taking his eyes from Greg's.

"I don't share. I thought I'd made that perfectly clear." Greg looked dumbfounded, his mouth working soundlessly, in the face of this new development. Wasn't he supposed to be dumping Sherlock?

"Hey, we didn't mean to come between you guys," Joe said uncomfortably.

"You didn't!"

Sherlock stalked away into the shadows of the club leaving Greg staring after him wondering what had just happened. Joe shrugged his shoulders and patted him on the back. "For a couple who aren't actually together that seemed a pretty genuine break up. You sure there isn't more going on with you two than you realise?"

"Don't be daft. It's all part of the plan." The only problem was, Greg couldn't really remember the point of the plan any more.

"Ok honey, but if you two get yourselves together give us a call? That non-boyfriend of yours is pretty delish! Pumpkin-time for us I'm afraid - the babysitter will only stay till midnight." Beth kissed him on the cheek, squeezing his butt too. Joe grinned, giving him a lingering hug.

"Go after him, and stop being so fucking straight, ok? He might not be the best thing that ever happened to you but he's got a fantastic arse."

The couple left Greg alone at the bar. He ordered his ninth bottle of lager and a double whisky, swallowing them down rapidly and indicating the same again to the barman. He was feeling the effect of the alcohol finally but the fun had gone out of the evening with Sherlock's departure. Joe was right though - Sherlock did have a spectacular arse in those leather trousers. He giggled to himself and downed his second double, sipping the beer more slowly.

"Our suspects left."

Sherlock stood at his elbow gripping his own bottle and deliberately not looking at Greg. "I got their number. The woman gave it to me."

"Good, good."

"Um... I think maybe you should take it. They seemed more attracted to you. If you need to follow up you might have more success on your own."

"I think they'd prefer us together, but that's not really an option."

"No."

They were silent for a while, drinking, until Greg said "Are you jealous?"

"Don't be ridiculous. What would give you that idea?"

"_You_ broke up with _me_, and you seemed pretty annoyed. That wasn't part of the plan."

"I improvised. Was my performance lacking? I don't have much experience of being a jealous boyfriend, or any kind of boyfriend really. I tried to take visual cues from you but you seemed a little distracted by the guy chatting you up and fondling you. It helped."

"Helped how?"

"Helped me determine how a jealous boyfriend might act if his lover was chatting with someone so touchy-feely."

Greg chuckled. "Touchy-feely? Not the sort of expression I expect to come from your mouth."

Sherlock frowned at his friend. "He was _overly tactile_ then. It assisted me in identifying an appropriate response to the way he kept touching up my boyfriend."

"Really? And your boyfriend should be _totally ok_ with you dirty dancing with a girl you barely know? I don't think you could get much more touchy-feely than that - it was indecent."

"Jealous?"

"No!"

"Fine! Let's dance. We'll be leaving soon."

Greg slid off the bar stool and wobbled slightly as the alcohol made his vision swim. He sniggered as Sherlock's arm wound round his waist steadying him. They moved to the dance floor that was filled with swaying couples as the music changed to a much slower tempo. Greg rested his hands on Sherlock's hips and grinned as the detective's hands slid to the small of his back. Their eyes locked - grey-green holding dark brown captive as they moved to the music.

"You know they've gone right? We don't need to do this anymore."

"I know."

"We're drunk again."

"I know that too."

Greg recalled a few lines of the song that was playing and flushed yet again as the words spilled over them.

_And you wanted to dance so I asked you to dance, but fear is in your soul. Some people call it a one night stand, but we can call it paradise. _

Sherlock gave a small smile that caused Greg's heart to stutter. He bent to Greg's ear, his deep baritone vibrating along his sensitive skin.

"I know there is no case Greg, and that tonight was some ridiculously elaborate set up, the purpose of which eludes me. However, if there's anything about me you want to know... Just ask, ok?"

Greg released a breath slowly, very aware of the other man's leather-clad hips shifting under his palms. Before his nerve could fail him he asked "Are you gay?"

"No. Are you?"

Greg shook his head. He was certain, and yet...

"We're still dancing."

"We are," agreed Sherlock with a mischievous grin, and with the barest brush of his lips against Greg's forehead they danced until the last bars of the song faded away.

The End. For Now.


End file.
